


WE DON'T HAVE TO TAKE OUR CLOTHES OFF

by chuckalicious



Series: LOVE MY WAY - it oneshots [3]
Category: IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Big Gay Love Story, Gay Richie Tozier, Gay Stanley Uris, Gentle Kissing, Gentle Sex, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, References to Depression, Sad Stanley Uris, Sad with a Happy Ending, Soft Richie Tozier, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23995963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuckalicious/pseuds/chuckalicious
Summary: in which stanley uris is raped as a child and starts his long road to recovery with his best friend by his side
Relationships: Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Series: LOVE MY WAY - it oneshots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730359
Kudos: 38





	WE DON'T HAVE TO TAKE OUR CLOTHES OFF

**Author's Note:**

> (trigger warnings : mentions of rape & sexual assault, slight smut)
> 
> national sexual assault hotline: 1-800-656-4673
> 
> ^ if you have experienced this/are currently in a situation like this and need help, please don't hesitate to call this number or join an online chat hotline.

stanley remembers everything from that night. he remembers how he'd been trying to sleep, his head sandwiched between two soft pillows and a blanket pulled over his body. he remembers the sound of his dad's best friend nudging the door open. the sound of his bare feet padding against the wooden floor of his bedroom, getting awfully close to the end of his bed. he remembers the pillow and the blanket being lifted from on top of him and the man replacing them instead. he remembers being only twelve years old and not having a clue what was happening other than the fact that there was something inside of him and it wasn't just the fear he had felt. he remembers protesting and yelling at the man to stop but his words were muffled from the hand cupped over his lips. when it wasn't the hand, it was lips, and when it wasn't lips, it was something he wishes he could forget. he remembers how he had sobbed to his parents a week later, fed up with keeping such a secret from them. his dad didn't believe him, thought he was playing tricks on him or something, and his mom looked like she wanted to believe him but she also refused. he had fallen to his knees in the kitchen and begged them to listen but to no avail. they kept the guy around, let him crash in the living room when he was drunk sometimes and stanley would wake up in the middle of the night to hear him inching closer and closer to his room like the monsters he used to think were under his bed.

stanley remembers stuffing his backpack with clothes another night it had happened and running out of the house. he remembers sprinting as fast as he could through the rain, his body coated in water and tears and somebody else's saliva. the quick knocks on richie tozier's front door as if the monster of a man was chasing after him, hunting him down just to pin him to his mattress and use him as a toy for his own pleasure. richie's mother, maggie, had answered the door and took one look at the boy's horrified face and ushered him inside, peeking out into the rain-slicked streets to make sure there was nobody else with him. he remembers laying in richie's bed and telling his mom about the things that had been happening to him, how the man had threatened to kill him if he'd ever told anybody about anything. but he had finally told somebody and maggie had refused to let the boy go back home until his parents were made aware of the situation and were no longer allowing the creepy man to come around him anymore. even when he went home, without the man's presence, it still lingered everywhere, especially in the bedroom.

he remembers when puberty hit at fourteen years old. he remembers waking up some mornings with this terrible throbbing feeling inside of his pajama pants and sobbing into his pillow because he'd felt so absolutely disgusting. he didn't think it was normal to feel like that, not without reasoning, and when he had begun to dream about boys and wake up like that multiple times a month, he'd figured he needed to tell somebody so he could be reassured.

he remembers going over to richie's house one night, two years after the first morning he'd woken up and cried until that feeling went away. he remembers laying on the living room floor next to his best friend in the dark, nothing but the television illuminating their faces. he had turned on his side to face the raven-haired boy, after they had been cracking a couple jokes about the scene they had just watched, and he had swallowed thickly before calling out his name to get his attention. richie had turned to him with an eyebrow quirked and asked him what was up, and stanley had twisted his mouth as he tried to explain what had been happening and how he kept feeling like he wanted to kiss boys and didn't know the reason why. he'd been terrified of kissing anybody or doing anything relationship-wise since the first time he'd had an experience with the monster that still to this day haunts his home. richie had sat up and scooted closer to the boy, that rise of an eyebrow now furrowed as he watched stan sit up across from him as well. "stanley, that's completely normal," he shook his head. "i know it might not feel good because of what happened to you but one day someone will make it feel good, i can promise you that," he had told him, and the blond had burst into tears and asked if he could kiss him with rosy, wet cheeks. richie had asked if he was sure and he nodded and richie had leaned forward and pressed their lips together, richie swears he feels a spark like in those romance movies when the love interests kiss for the first time. that spark doesn't last too long as stanley only thanks him before turning his back and going to bed.

stanley uris remembers turning to alcohol as a coping mechanism after he had gone to a college party and had been sexually assaulted by one of the jocks there. he remembers the guys' hands on him and how they had not only traveled through his curls when he had forced him to his knees but they had also touched him in places he didn't want to be touched. he had been high, like everyone else at said party, and taken advantage of and he hadn't made any complaints because he thought he wasn't allowed to. he remembers trudging home in the rain, sopping with rain and the tears streaming down his cheeks and trembling. that experience had reminded him so much of what had happened in his childhood and it brought everything back as soon as he was finally beginning to settle down and stop thinking about it all the time.

he remembers entering the home he and his boyfriend shared and immediately going to the fridge to grab a half-empty bottle of vodka. he brought it into the living room and flopped onto the couch, ignoring the pain in his heart and in his privates as he took a swig out of the bottle. he heard the older boy's bare feet padding along the wooden floor of the hallway and he tried to stop the tears but the closer he got the more upset he had become.

"finally, you're home, i was starting to get worried," richie murmured as he walked into the room with a cigarette dangling between his lips. he had stopped standing right in front of the couch and frowned upon seeing the boy's tear-stained cheeks. "hey," he cooed. "did something happen?" he asked, sitting down next to him and turning toward him with a worried look on his face.

richie noticed the swelling bruise on stanley's wrist and held his hand gently, looking from his face to his hand and back all over again. "uh, i-i don't know, i tried to walk away b-but, um, he forced me to," stan trembled a little, took the cigarette with his unoccupied hand and put it in his own mouth, to try and cope. he started sobbing again and could barely hold the tobacco between his fingers and richie gave him a pleading look to just speak to him. "i-it hurts," he hiccuped.

"what hurts?" richie asked, searching his face for any sort of explanation, although he'd already had a thought of what it could be in his head. "stanley, did connor try to do something to you?"

the only thing the honey-haired boy could do was nod, hands shaking too badly to put the cigarette back up to his lips in an attempt to relieve his stress. richie took it from him before he could burn something and stubbed it out in the ashtray on the coffee table, careful to keep his eye on the sobbing boy next to him. "everything."

he started to scratch at his skin with the nails he'd been anxiously biting at since his teenage years. his boyfriend took his hands in his own and stood up off the couch so he could pull stanley up as well. "okay, c'mon, babe, let's go run you a bath," he held him close as they walked down the hallway and into the bathroom.

he'd helped him into the warm, soapy water of the bath and kneeled on the floor in front of the tub so he could speak with the boy and reassure him that things would be okay and that he was going to absolutely kill connor the next time he'd see him. stanley had protested and told him that it would only make things worse and that he would try to avoid him from now on.

stanley remembers one time he had gotten so drunk he'd ended up puking his guts out in the bathroom at a bar and richie had been out in the main room conversing and partying without consuming any alcohol, since he was the one driving them home. he had been dragged along with stanley anyway, who just wanted to get drunk to get his mind off of things. but the alcohol suddenly made him remember everything he wanted to forget. everything he'd been trying to push out of his head, his dad's friend, connor at the party, any other time a stranger had touched him in any way he didn't appreciate and the fact that he had stayed quiet and didn't voice his opinion or tell anyone besides richie. it all came back, flooding into his mind that night.

he remembers putting his head on the rim of the toilet seat and sobbing violently with the stall door wide open, feeling so pathetic. he remembers thinking that if anyone would have walked in, they would've just laughed and made fun of him and accused him of being over emotional and too sensitive like everyone else in his life had said previously.

against his prayers, he heard the bathroom door opening among the pounding music heard thumping through the wall and the terrible sound of his own vomiting and weeping and he'd scrambled to close the door but when he looked up he saw richie and he couldn't do anything but just stare at him, pathetically. "hey," he cooed, immediately kneeling on the ground next to him. he'd captured his face in his hands and gave him that pleading he had given him the last time this had happened, begging him to tell him what's wrong without actually saying anything. "you need to breathe, stanley, baby, come on."

he'd tried to run through a couple of breathing patterns, the ones stanley had learned during therapy only a few years after the first time something like this had happened. it had only worked a little bit, with the honey-haired boy shaking so badly. trembling, actually. it hurt richie's heart to watch the terrified look on stanley's wet, splotchy face. "i wan' go home," he hiccuped, voice cracking. he avoided any eye contact with his boyfriend and instead looked at the puke in the toilet and scrunched up his nose in disgust.

"are you gonna be able to make it home without getting sick again, babe?" richie asks, brushing and tying his hair back with his fingers and an extra ponytail he'd kept around his wrist just because. he'd only shrugged and richie had just helped him up before leading him through the bar, through all the people dancing and groping each other just like he had been touched as a kid. he'd kept his eyes cast downward at his feet and everything was spinning but he had to look down otherwise he'd get those flashbacks again. he'd heard richie asking one of the bartenders for a plastic bag, probably for him to throw up in, and then he'd led him out the front doors.

stanley was relieved to get some fresh air into his body, and it was quite obvious as he'd slowed his breathing and the tears weren't coming as harsh or as fast as they were before. richie had helped him into the passenger seat of their car with a kiss to the forehead and had handed him the plastic bag and made sure he would use it if he needed to. with that, they'd driven all the way home in the dark and stanley had been knocked out cold by the time they pulled into the driveway. richie had carried him into the house and laid him on the couch, bringing him an empty trash can in case he would wake up and feel nauseous, and a bottle of painkillers and a cold water bottle that wouldn't be too cold when he would wake up later and need some.

and richie had ended up making his own little makeshift bed on the floor next to the coffee table and the couch, just to keep an eye on his lover throughout the night. he didn't get much sleep as stanley continued to wake up with a killer headache and he'd thrown up just a few times, from his nightmares and from his hungover state. "can i come lay by you?" the drunken boy had asked around three in the morning when he'd begun to feel a little less like absolute death. richie had agreed without hesitation and moved the trash can to be next to him again just in case, and with that, stanley had slowly made his way to the floor and richie had wrapped his arms around him and spooned him from behind, stroking his knuckles against his pale cheekbone until he'd fallen asleep.

stanley remembers when he'd begun to get those dreams and wake up absolutely aching in that area again, like when he was a teenager. sometimes he'd cry, sometimes he'd just snuggle back into richie's hold and be careful to keep his lower half away from his body and just will it away in his head, and sometimes he'd lay on his back and stare up at the ceiling, heart pounding, hands trembling, wanting to do nothing more but to touch himself, or have richie touch him. but he's terrified. he's never going to get over what happened to him as a kid and he wishes he could erase it from his mind but he can't. it's stuck in his head, every time he goes to slip his hand inside of his boxers when he absolutely feels the need to, all he can see if a complete stranger doing it instead and that's enough to make him absolutely revolted.

he remembers one night he'd woken up from a dream he had about him and richie and it was the only thing he could think about at that moment. somehow the traumatic experiences left his mind for the time being and stanley had woken up richie with a shake of his shoulders. richie had opened his eyes right away as he was used to being woken up so frequently living with the boy, but he wasn't expecting what he'd heard come from his lover's mouth. "richie, rich, i-i need you to touch me," he murmurs, his eyes still closed.

"woah," richie rubbed at his eyes and then brushed his unruly hair out of his face in order to hear him better. "did i just hear you right?" he asked, eyebrows drawn together.

the honey-haired boy nodded, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds. when he opened them again, richie was staring at him and he shouldn't have found it attractive but he did. "please?" he asked, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth.

the older boy nodded and leaned closer so he was close enough to kiss him on the lips. "let me know if it's too much for you, or anything, okay? if you feel uncomfortable at all you have to tell me."

stanley remembers richie trailing kisses from his face to his neck and sucking gently on his skin as he slowly slid his hand into his pants to relieve his problem. stanley remembers being scared but having the pleasure override it, reaching down to grab richie's unoccupied hand and squeeze it the closer and closer he got to the climax. richie had thought the noises his boy was making were incredible, absolute music to his ears and he never wanted it to stop but he knew this would only be a once in a while situation and he's okay with that. he will always be okay doing or not doing anything as long as stanley is comfortable and content.

stanley remembers the first time they had ever gotten close to having sex on a summer evening only six or so months later. he remembers being a little buzzed and wrestling around with richie on the living room floor. he remembers richie being on top of him and feeling his hard-on pressing against his body as he tickled the younger boy mercilessly. he had brought his knee up once they had began to settle down and grazed over it through richie's sweatpants, looking up at him with a curious look on his face. "shit, i'm sorry," richie snapped out of the starstruck daze he was in. "i'll be right back, okay?" he made a move to get up and go down the hall to the bathroom but stanley had grabbed his hand and brought him right back on top of him. "stan," he sighed softly. "come on, let me go take care of it, i promise i'll be right back."

"no," stanley shook his head, trying his best to put on a brave face while he looked up at his boyfriend. he leaned up on his elbows and kissed him on the lips. "rich, i think i'm ready," he murmured to him.

but richie caught the nervous, unsure look on his face and made him sit up completely, taking his hands in his and kissing his knuckles. "hey, stop it," he retorted softly, scanning his face again and again. stanley swallowed thickly, he could hear it in his throat. "you're drunk, stanley. you'd really regret it and i can promise you that."

the honey-haired boy didn't even bother to argue back, just avoiding eye contact with his lover. he heard richie ask him what's wrong and he just shrugged, throwing his hands up in the air exasperatedly to get his point across. "just, you always help me out and i never return the favor," he grumbled, and there were tears forming in his already glassy eyes and every time he swallowed it was audible. richie kept his eyebrows drawn together and watched as stanley crossed his arms over his chest uncomfortably and twisted his mouth. "i dunno, why do you want to be with me i-if i act like this all the time?" he asked.

"because i love you for who you are, stan," the older boy responded easily, wiped away the single tear that slipped down his cheek with a sympathetic smile. "what you've been through, i can't imagine how it feels, but i completely understand why it might scare you," he told him, hand still on his boy's cheek, caressing his face. "you know we don't have to take our clothes off or do anything intimate to have fun, right? just because you don't want to have sex with me doesn't make me love you any less."

stanley began to shed some tears as he thought over what he wanted to say. he inhaled shakily. "i do," he sniffled. "i do but whenever i do i keep... i keep seeing him and i don't want to keep getting reminded of him o-or connor every time i think about it," the boy scratched at the skin on his hand again like he used to do when things were worse in his head, sometimes he'd break the skin and there would be scabs scattered across it and he would scratch at those too and make it a whole cycle. "i'm really sorry i keep bringing them up, i know you hate it when i do. i should be over it by now, it's been over a decade."

"only because it makes you so upset, babe," richie holds his hands again, kisses both of them and keeps them close to him so stanley can't hurt himself anymore. "no matter how long ago it was, you're still allowed to cope, you know that? you need to cope to try and make yourself feel better. you're so strong, bub, i love you so much and i'm willing to wait forever if you ever decide that you really want to do it."

and stanley does decide that he's ready the next year. stanley remembers it was a rainy day in the fall and they'd done it in their bedroom with only the sound of the rain pattering against the window and their heavy breathing and the occasional sniffle of stanley. he had cried happy tears as he overcame the fear that had been so heavy, crushing his chest everywhere he went. he remembers how slow and deliciously sweet it had been, how richie had continuously captured him in a breathtaking kiss and asked if everything was okay. how stanley had nodded every single time and begged him not to stop through his tears. he remembers how richie had rambled on and on about how much he loved him and how absolutely amazing he was afterward, while they laid in bed and just looked at each other, took in each other's features as if they were never going to see each other again. how stanley had thanked him for being so patient and how happy he was to have somebody like him.

stanley remembers how the next day him and richie had went out and danced in the rain, having the time of their lives. richie had stopped dancing just so he could grab his face and kiss him on the lips, smiling through it like one of those cliche movies. stanley's life is anything but cliche. but he's healing. and he realizes that he doesn't have to take his clothes off to have fun. richie is all he really needs.


End file.
